


Puttanesca

by Last_Haven



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:32:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Haven/pseuds/Last_Haven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recipes for pasta dishes and disasters</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puttanesca

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll be judging you if you don’t get the Series of Unfortunate Events reference.

“Puttanesca.”

Romano _thinks_ he misheard that; he hopes he did because if he didn’t America’s ass is permanently banished to the couch which would be a damn shame on all accounts. He readjusts his grip on his cell phone as he swerves around another idiot, letting go of the wheel momentarily to flip the driver off as he passes them. “What did you just call me?”

“I didn’t call you anything—I need a recipe for puttanesca.”

Romano raises a brow, tucking his phone against his shoulder as he adjusts the radio. “Why? I only trust you in the kitchen marginally more than I do England; what makes you think I trust you not to massacre my recipe?”

“Dude, a friend of my boss is coming over—some diplomat or ambassador-”

“That’s practically the same thing.”

“Semantics,” America quips; Romano can hear paper rustling in the background and Romano wonders if America seriously dug out some cookbooks to find a recipe. It wouldn’t surprise him much; for as much as his boyfriend loves Google, he’s still an idiot at times and has probably forgot all about his search engine. “Anyway, my boss said something about making puttanesca so I need a recipe. Quickly.”

Romano smirks. “How long did you put this off?”

“I had to clean up first!”

“Uh huh,” Romano snickers, dodging another car, this driver screaming an impressively irate tirade at him. He pulls the phone away long enough to scream back before putting the phone back up to his ear, just in time to hear America laughing. “Puttanesca, huh.”

“Yep. Pretty please? I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Oh, you will, will you? And how are you going to do that?”

“That’ll be a surprise! So, can I get that recipe?”

Romano pauses, closing eyes despite the flowing traffic, focusing inward until the heady smells of spices fills his nostrils and salt stings his tongue. He rattles off the recipe nearly too fast for America, slowing only to stress an important direction. _(He lied earlier—if given a new recipe, America could usually be trusted on to get it right. It’s when he got bored with an old one and started to experiment that things tended to go awry.)_

“That it? Thanks, babe, I owe you.”

“Damn straight you do.”

They hang up, but not ten minutes later Romano calls America back. Turns out he doesn’t need a surprise—he needs a mechanic to fix the crumpled, smoking engine in his car. America laughs and schedules a time to fly out and fix it.


End file.
